


Violet

by Dusty_Forgotten



Series: Sunset [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Androids, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Romance, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'll pretend none of it ever happened.</p>
<p>But it did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violet

**Author's Note:**

> Best paired with [Counting Stars by OneRepublic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORSC0msUBZ0).

“My God... What am I going to do? My life, everything, it’s all a lie...”

Harkness runs his fingers through his hair, then holds to it tightly as his eyes screw shut. The man’s trying not to cry. Hard-nose Harkness, as she’s overheard from some of the security, is trying not to cry. The Lone Wanderer winces. She should have given Zimmer the component, just hadn’t trusted that Railroad woman... Now the Chief of Rivet City security is having an existential crisis in the hallway.

A public hallway, it occurs to her, where anyone could walk by. She’s sure she hears running; he screamed when the memories reintegrated, after all. “Harkness-”

“You know, I cut myself shaving this morning. I was bleeding! Robots don’t bleed!”

Erin begs to differ, but now’s really not the time. That’s definitely running, and definitely close, and definitely not the thing to be talking about. “Harkness, we’ve really gotta-"

He heaves an exhale, short and stabbing. “I remember it all. The Commonwealth, the Institute...”

She grabs him by the neck and jams her lips against his. When she hooks one leg around his hip, he smacks a hand against the metal behind her to keep balance- just as the security guard rounds the corner. Harkness pulls her against him, and kisses back.

Erin waits for the tip-toed steps to retreat completely from her hearing before she shoves him off. “Okay, they’re gone.”

His eyebrows twitch from surprise into a confused furrow, which morphs into anger. “...You’ve got five seconds to explain.”

She jabs a thumb to the right. “Guard heard the scream, came to check. First way I could think of to shut you up. See? Only took me three.”

Harkness takes a step back, a glance down the hallway. “We shouldn’t be talking about this out in the open.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” she replies, then glances to the left, and trails her fingertips up his arm. “So where do the kids go to get laid around here?”

“Ex _cuse me?_ ” Erin inclines her head towards a citizen walking by. He clears his throat, and his voice comes out low. “Follow me.”

“Your morning’s gonna be awkward,” the Wanderer teases.

“Less awkward than the alternative.”

“Less dangerous.”

He chuffs a breath. They walk in peaceful quiet, and Erin’s thankful at least one of them knows these halls. She squeezes his bicep when they pass a drunkard; they’ve already committed to the lie, might as well make it consistent. “You’ve got great arms,” she mentions, partly for their cover, mostly because it’s true.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, “it’s just how I’m _built_.”

She snorts at that.

Erin gets lost in the residential decks because everything’s the damn same, but she knows this staircase. “Are you telling me horny teens walk straight through the security barracks to get it on?”

“No, but I figure anywhere _I_ know is just where they get caught.” Harkness spins a door handle, and pushes it open. They step onto a gangway above the flight deck. “This is where _security_ comes to get laid.”

She smiles as he tightens the door shut. “Come here often, do you?”

Harkness glares as he brushes past, but she’s starting to get used to that. It seems to be his default response to humour. “Only when I can’t sleep.”

“Is that often?”

“All the time.” Hand through hair, and a shameful smile. “Dreams are always disturbing. Know why, now.”

“How much do you remember?” she asks, sliding in next to him. He’s average height, for a man- exactly average, she’s willing to bet, down the centimetre- but Erin is average for a woman, so there’s distance between them.

He fixes his eyes on the moon. “All of it.”

If they were inside the ship, surrounded by creaking metal instead of above it, he wouldn’t hear her when she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Then why the hell did you do it?” he snaps, withering almost immediately. He fishes in his pocket.

“Figured you’d know better than I do how to deal with Zimmer.”

“God, I don’t even want to _think_ about Zimmer,” the security chief groans, pulling a cigarette from the pack.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t,” he hisses. “Or, haven’t, for a long time. Guess I never did, just someone I remember being... You got a light?”

“If I can bum one.”

He pinches an unlit cigarette between his lips and offers the pack her direction. She throws it over the railing.

“What the hell-” he begins, and she grabs the one from his mouth to toss it onto the flight deck, too. “Really, kid?”

“I’ll give you the caps later.” She shrugs.

“I’m already pissed off. You’re pushing it.”

The Lone Wanderer rolls her eyes when he looks away, and pulls up her Pip-Boy. “On the plus side, you don’t have to feel guilty about your wife leaving. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Never had the good times with her, either.”

“You can remember it like you did.”

“I’d rather forget.”

Erin frowns, and studies his face. He looks good in moonlight. He looks good most of the time. “Pinkerton did a real bang-up job.”

“Completely ignoring me when I asked for a memory wipe?”

She stretches her arm across the railing in front of them, Pip-Boy displaying a side-by-side of Harkness and A3-21. “You asked for a new face, not a better one. Pinkerton’s really best as a plastic surgeon. I went to him after a waster fucked up my jaw with a baseball bat, and I swear he gave me a facelift.”

Harkness holds her forearm where the Pip-Boy ends, and mutters, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to look at two completely different pictures and recognize they’re both you?”

“No,” Erin admits, drawing her arm back. She stops before they fully detach, and rests her hand on his. “But I know what it’s like to regret.”

His thumb tightens where her fingertips sit, then his hand pulls away. It ends up in his hair. “The hell are we gonna do about Zimmer?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I’d like to shove him in a very small box, and send him north where he belongs.”

She slips easily back into professionalism. “As much as I’d like to shoot his wrinkly ass, more will come looking.”

“Damn,” he grumbles. She’s not sure if it’s in response to the gravity of the situation, or the fact it can’t be solved with bullets.

“However,” the Wanderer hints, reaching into her satchel, “this might help. Know what it is?”

He takes the component, and turns it over in his hands. “Of course I do. Every android has one. You only find these in synths or the Institute.”

“And we’re a long way from the Institute.”

He turns towards her, suspicion on his face. “Where’d you get this?”

“A woman with the Railroad said it would make Zimmer think you were dead. I would’ve just given it to him, but I’ve never heard of the Railroad, so I didn’t know if I could trust them.”

“You can.”

“Great. First thing in the morning I’ll head over to the broken bow, act like I found this there, and you died before you got to Pinkerton.”

He hands the component back. “Then we’re done here. Now, if you don’t mind,” he adds, backing casually towards the door, “I’m gonna pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Hold it, sparky.”

It’s kind of cute how quick his head snaps around. If looks could kill... “I don’t care what you know, I’ll still throw you in the river.”

She smiles; no one ever gets his jokes. “This may not bother you, but I’d rather not be known as the worst lay in Rivet City.”

“Good luck with that,” he shoots back, and reaches for the door.

“Let me put it this way-” she spits out in less time than it takes him to pull a trigger- “you walk out, people wonder why, and you’re the talk of the boat until Paulie’s next overdose.”

“Right...” he sighs, snarks, “What do you suggest?”

Erin shrugs. “Best case scenario, we wait here a while longer. You’re no two-pump chump, I don’t have to fake cry, just a couple adults gettin’ it on, happens all the time. All blows over in a few days.”

Hand, hair. “Fine. Just keep quiet.”

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

She lied. Harkness is inescapably aware that he’s not alone on the walkway, but that the vaultie’s tucked in the far corner, shadowed by the ship itself. When he tries to focus on his humanity, his mind drifts back to the rounds he should be making. When he thinks about his old life, he worries about what Zimmer could be uncovering right now. Cyclical thinking; report for diagnostics. “I really wish you hadn’t thrown away my cigarettes.”

Her voice comes from the dark. “I don’t have a lighter, anyway.”

He smiles to himself, and the Potomac. Just not her.

Carbonation fizzes, and he glances in time to see her snatch the bottle cap out of the air before it falls through to the flight deck. She smiles awkwardly, and holds up the Nuka cola. “Want one?”

“I’m not big on soda.”

Glass clinks. He doesn’t look this time. “...I’ve got scotch?”

Another smile at the river, and he pushes off the railing.

The bottle glints where she holds it out of the shadow, and Harkness takes it. “Scoot over.”

She does, and they barely squeeze in next to each other, with the shoulders on his armor, and muscle on his shoulders. “No cigarettes, but alcohol’s fine?” he quibbles.

“Well, you’re not gonna get cancer, but smoke can still collect in your lungs. Alcohol won’t even transfer to your bloodstream.”

“And here I thought I just had a great tolerance,” he replies, popping out the cork. She tilts the cola his direction, and they toast. “How do you know so much about androids?”

“Pinkerton and I talked shop. Smarter than you'd think, considering he lives with mirelurks. He’ll keep talking as long as you flatter him.”

“Why do you care about stupid androids?” he grumbles, sipping from the bottle.

Pale eyes glare at him. Even in the dark, they glow. “Jesus, Hark, the scotch hasn’t even hit yet.”

“It never will.”

She blinks at him, and lowers the soda from her lips. “...Right.”

When Harkness looks toward the blur of motion, he sees only the bottle where she’d sat. Erin’s by the railing. He gets a little tense.

“How long did it take?”

“How long did what take?” he questions, standing slowly.

She doesn’t look at him when she speaks, stroking slicked-back flyaways out of her face. “To start thinking for yourself.”

He leaves the scotch next to the cola, and approaches her, cautiously. The air feels heavy. Must be the humidity. “Years.”

“Yeah,” the Lone Wanderer agrees, and locks eyes with him, “me too.”

They lean over the railing, side-by-side. The moon’s lower than it was. It’s late- late enough he could leave. He doesn’t want to. “Any luck with your dad?”

She puts her back to the railing. View’s a lot better from the other direction, in his opinion. “I think he’s in a vault. A different one, mind you, not the one we left. Same vault your memory chip came from, if Pinkerton’s not going senile.”

“Say hello to the real Harkness for me.”

She’s quiet for a second. “...You _are_ the real Harkness.”

There’s some connection between their eyes, but their brains don’t make the same. She hops up; he grips her shoulder before she can go over the railing.

Erin sits on the top rail, hands clamped to it on either side and feet hooked around the second pipe. If she falls, it’ll be towards him. She laughs. “Jumpy, aren’t we?”

He knows there’s panic in his eyes, and he knows she sees it, too. Her face falls. It’s like she’s reading his life from the lines between his brows. “...How many jumpers since you moved to Rivet City?”

The leather on her back squeaks where he presses his fingertips into it. “...I lost count.”

They’re talking with their eyes again: or he’s talking, because her eyes are telling him nothing. He interrupts himself to glance over her shoulder, and nods toward a guard on patrol. Erin twists to follow his gaze, and he moves his grip under her arm to the other side of her ribcage. It pulls them closer, which fits what they’re supposed to be doing up here. It also keeps her from going over the railing, should she let go.

She lets go. Arms wrap around his neck, and she uses that hold to swing legs to either side of his waist, and pinch there with their own strength. Harkness leans back to compensate for the added weight- stumbles back, which is what seems to have kept their mouths apart, until he hits the wall and her mouth is all he knows- her lips, her tongue, the taste of cola. Everything’s pressing against him- his armor, chinese assault rifle stabbing into his back, her forearms, her thighs, lips. Can’t feel her breasts against his chestplate, and he suddenly has no idea why he’s wearing armor. He doesn’t have time to think about it, because it needs to be off, right now. He can’t get to it, though, with his hands on the seat of her jeans, and completely forgets what he was worried about.

Blunt nails dig into his neck, and trail into the short hair on the back of his head, entangling and yanking down. She nips at his jaw, and a shiver runs through his whole body, down, where her mouth trails, down, where her hands slide when they disentangle like the rest of her. The soles on her boots rattle the whole walkway when they hit, and he already wants between her legs again. With less clothing, hopefully.

They’ve gotta get it off, first.

Harkness doesn’t notice she’s detached the strap for his rifle until he pushes off the wall and it clatters to the metal gangway. It’s loud, but when he glances at the flight deck, he doesn’t see the guard. Then he only sees Erin, unzipping a leather jacket too big for her and letting it drop off her shoulders as she backs into the dark.

There’s two buckles in the front, one in the back, and one inside each of his thighs, and he manages to undo all of them in the two strides it takes to catch her. Harkness doesn’t bother with the six for his knee and shin guards alone; he doesn’t expect to need that kind of mobility, anyway. He hadn’t realized how badly his erection was straining against the plate until it fell away. The chestplate has to come over his head, and as much as he’d like to say he doesn’t throw it, he does.

But they’re pressed against each other again, and nothing’s digging into him except her teeth. When he kicks her feet apart, the Nuka cola tips and rolls off the gangway. He doesn’t hear it shatter over the blood in his ears, fingers pressing into the pliant fabric of well-worn jeans. He can feel the heat and moisture even with that much between. The Wanderer gasps into his neck, and arches against him, and the hand that isn’t clawing his scalp fights his waistband.

Her moans turn into a growl and she shoves him back, one palm flat to his firm chest, pushing him down to metal cooled so long in the dark. She pulls her tank off before setting on top of him, lips to his lips, palms to his abs, and working their way up. He breaks the kiss with a jerk of his head, pulling his shirt off. What he sees when it slips over his eyes is Erin, pale arms flexing in the struggles with her sports bra. When she finally frees herself, Harkness cannot wait to pull her flush against him, pressed together yet again, with nothing in between. She rocks against him, four layers of fabric, and they’re so close, now. He’s forgetting something. Her body does that to him.

Any muscles that aren’t used in miles of walking and counteracting kickback aren’t developed, so she’s soft in the middle.

Her kiss isn’t.

His hands scramble over her back, trying to find somewhere to hold onto. He feels like he’s gonna need it. The Lone Wanderer throws her head back when she sits up, flicking hair out of her face. She pulls one boot off- doesn’t bother with the laces, doesn’t need to when they’re too big- and slides both her jeans and what’s underneath down her legs in the same step, letting them pool at one ankle. The slick between her thighs glistens in the moonlight.

He remembers.

She’s on his zipper when he grabs her hand. “Wait.”

Her pupils are blown out, and lips swollen when she looks up at him and quirks a single brow.

He finds his jaw shaking when it opens. It’s not from the cold. “...I don’t have a condom.”

She squints as her hand draws out from under his, and rests on top. “Harkness.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning this!” he snaps back.

Blue eyes roll and she crawls up his body, pinning the hand connected with hers above his head. “A3-21.”

“Harkness, if you don’t mind.”

She leans down; breasts press to his clavicles, and her whisper ghosts over his ear. “Nothing lives in synthetics.”

He’s only processing one thing at a time, starting with her fingers unlacing from his, then wet lips following the crease between his abdominal muscles. He’s lost track of any reality but sensation by the time his cargo pants are down, but he regains vision by way of opening his eyes at the slow drag of his boxers.

“God, why have I been using condoms all these years?” he quips.

Erin laughs, but it’s cut off in a stuttered inhale when she slides him inside.

Harkness groans back in his throat, clutching her hips like holding her will hold him together. Her clit touches his pubic bone, and once more they’re pressed together, with absolutely nothing between them.

In the lull as she lets herself adjust to his girth, Harkness tries to piece together how he got here. He was coming to terms with a life he’d chosen to forget, the Institute, the runners, something about cigarettes- then she’s moving, and he forgets it all again. It’s slow, but there’s not a damn thing gentle about the way she crushes down against him and the nails that scrape his chest whenever a thrust hits right. Panting, she grinds her hips forward and back, rubbing circles around her clit. She grabs for something- anything- when she comes, and he ends up with four little crescents punctured in a line on his forearm. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the spasms and goosebumps around and under his touch.

Harkness is happy with just that. There are a few moments to let their breathing even until it’s drowned by the breeze and Potomac. He soughs when Erin slips off, and has a controlled collapse on top of him. They’re still, like the water.

He opens his eyes, and thinks the moon sliding behind the D.C. ruins resembles an oil painting.

“Hey good-lookin’.”

Erin, tracing welts on his chest with the pads of her fingers. The moon paints one side of her face white, the other shadowed almost completely black, but the glint off her eye.

“Look who’s looking,” he shoots back.

“You look so fucked out right now.”

“I wonder why.”

She chuckles, and touches her lips to his, sticky with soda. When she draws away, it’s completely. Her tank top is the first thing she replaces, bra shoved in the pocket of pants she pulls up. Harkness takes his cue, boxers first, then pants, since he doesn’t think he could get to his feet the with them binding his knees. Her footsteps on the gangway are loud when his ear’s almost against the floor. Holster, jacket, and satchel, all over one arm. “There’ll be rumours if we’re up here too long, too.”

He sits up, and fiddles his shirt right-side out. His voice strains; gotta clear his throat. “Yeah.”

“See you around, chief.”

“Wait. About...” He gets his shirt on, and stands, a vague motion between the two of them.

Erin smiles diplomatically. “Hey, no worries. None of this ever happened.”

She leaves. Harkness runs his hand through disorganized hair and gathers up the pieces of his armor, then the rifle. One last glance around the walkway, and he grabs the scotch. There. Like none of it ever happened.

But he’ll remember like it did.


End file.
